


satisfied through the weekend

by septiembre



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Breathplay Mention, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, F/M, Finger Sucking, Hair-pulling, Mirror Sex, Power Play, Sex, Smut, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 18:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30110472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septiembre/pseuds/septiembre
Summary: An alternate take of the 4x02 date between Beth and Fitzpatrick.***A laugh she’d know anywhere, dulcet and boisterous, interrupts her thoughts. She picks it out immediately over the buzz of the restaurant. A familiar figure comes into focus at the bar.Beth inches her gaze over the hitman’s shoulder.It’s Rio.Of all the restaurants in this damn city.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 68
Kudos: 283





	satisfied through the weekend

**Author's Note:**

> This tormented me. Now, it can torment you, too.
> 
> Content warnings: Mention of breath-play/sexual choking, unprotected sex.

The hitman takes her to a ritzy restaurant downtown. It’s the kind of place Dean has never taken Beth, preferring to drop his money on his various barely legal girlfriends instead. Though, they weren’t _all_ barely legal. 

Gayle is Beth’s age. Maybe it’s just his wife Dean doesn’t like. 

It’s the kind of place with the old-fashioned Edison bulbs, bronzey and stylish. They’re suspended in an artful web over the bar. Neat lines of white subway tile gleam in the low light. It’s noisy. Groups of people bunch around the bar laughing, drinking. The wait staff pivots around them, tracking paths between the kitchen and the tables set just far enough apart for privacy. 

It’s nice, a fun atmosphere. 

She’d come back. 

She could make it a girls’ night, after a few more washes of cash, when enough time has passed so she can put tonight behind her.

If the hitman lets her. If he does his job. 

They’re big if’s. 

A small candle flickers between her and her ‘date’, casting soft light across their faces. Even in the fluorescent light of the package store, Fitzpatrick is easy on the eyes in an aged-up Brat Pack kind of way. She can tell that James ** _—_** as he continues to insist ** _—_** is trying to flatter her. But, she can’t exactly say that she’s impressed. The prevailing feeling is more like... nausea. 

Beth knows that it is time to stop being surprised by the men in her line of work ** _—_** their audacity, self-importance, coercion. Dean’s may not be much but it’s strange to know that her marriage is not even a thought here.

She needs that kind of confidence. Maybe _she_ should become a hitman, hitwoman, _assassin_. 

She’s already had a few drinks. 

Dean is out, working from opening to closing these days, and she had fibbed that she was working late herself (and it _is_ work-related). Her husband had dropped the kids off for a sleepover at his mom’s early in the day and Beth had all afternoon to sit with her nerves. 

She had play-acted, putting on the sexy dress with the low neckline and the lace that she had charged on her new business credit card with a new underwear set to go with it. She had stared at all her exposed skin in the mirror, then done a shot off of her new bar cart. 

Tonight is adjacent to things that are old hats ** _—_** dressing up to have something to leverage against her boss, years of buttering up Dean over dinner.

Beth’s tough stuff. She could get through one meal to move the hit along. At this point, with all the money she’s dropped, it is a matter of principle. 

Beth had been on her third drink by the time the hitman picked her up. 

She’s unclear if it ended up as part of the hit dossier she had paid for or if Fitzpatrick had gotten lucky, but the restaurant has a great bourbon menu. He’s paying for once, so Beth orders a thirty-dollar glass. It’s passive-aggressive but she wants to be sure the hitman feels it at the end of the night if he insists that she endure this. 

Fitzpatrick chuckles and compliments her choice. He orders a scotch, also top-shelf, also neat. He orders food “for the table”, insists on it, and requests plates she knows she doesn’t want to eat. The way he says it all, a certain preen in his voice, it is clear he likes to pride himself on his taste. 

She should have probably played dumb, avoided further interest (and danger) by being blonder than he expected, brainless. But, god, is Beth _tired_ of dumbing herself down for the male ego. 

So sure, she’s subdued ** _—_** she doesn’t want to be here and certainly doesn’t want this to happen again ** _—_** but she doesn’t play the idiot. 

The drinks come and as they wait for their food the hitman steers the conversation. He talks about the job he just finished in Peru, another involving the souks of Marrakesh, and a weekend gig last month at a picturesque seaside town in Nova Scotia. 

And, she’s not enamored by him. 

But, she’s jealous. 

Maybe if he hadn’t coerced her into dinner, he could have been ** _—_** god, what? Her crime version of a friend on the PTA? An ally? Someone to talk shop with who wasn’t ** _—_** She can relate to the detail-oriented nature of Fitzpatrick’s work. He’s meticulous like her and she can agree that there are some similarities between them. 

She wishes _she_ got to travel. 

Beth brings the bourbon to her mouth for a sip. The warm caramel notes would be lovely if it were her first glass of the evening, but they’re muted now, muddled with the way the liquor is hitting her empty stomach. She watches half-listening as Fitzpatrick’s mouth moves as he talks, the look in his eyes boastful. He is midway through recounting a trip last year to the pools of Hierve el Agua. 

Would the hitman brag about a local job? _This_ job? 

The questions prick at the hairs of her neck. They lodge themselves in her shoulders knotting. They make her draw in her elbows, adjust in her seat. 

How would James frame it? 

She sets the glass down carefully on its little square napkin. She wipes her finger through the condensation, nodding along. Trying to keep up appearances, she begins to idly play with a strand of her hair, inspecting the ends, twirling it around her finger, anything to not look at him. 

She’s done. 

She’s ready to pick at her food and go home. 

Tomorrow, in the brightness of a new day (and the safety of her home), she’ll do some googling about breakups, run a draft by Annie. Then, she’ll leave a voicemail and call it all off. 

A laugh she’d know anywhere, dulcet and boisterous, interrupts her thoughts. She picks it out immediately over the buzz of the restaurant. A familiar figure comes into focus at the bar. 

Beth inches her gaze over the hitman’s shoulder.

It’s Rio. 

Of all the restaurants in this damn city. 

The would-be target, her perennial problem, and the reason she’s here tonight. He’s in a group, chatting with three or four people she doesn’t recognize. The planes of his face particularly fine under the golden light. He’s standing angled against the bar, glass in hand, wearing his typical button-down, dark-wash jeans and pristine shoes. 

He looks their way and his gaze connects with hers. 

Rio gives her the old once-over, his tongue darting across his lips. His eyes track low, heavy with some emotion ** _—_** and she feels that awful spark. Embers linger, haunting her even now with everything between them. 

He takes a drink. 

Then, his gaze shifts. He zeros in on the back of Fitzpatrick’s head. 

_Oh._

She fiddles with the lace at her neckline and debates tugging it up. Across from her, Fitzpatrick catches the movement and makes an appreciative noise.

 _Ew_. 

She tries not to be too obvious as she peeks over his shoulder again. Rio has his phone out now. He taps away, as his party talks around him. He frowns at his screen. Then, he looks back up at her ** _—_** no, not her. 

Fitzpatrick. 

Oh _no._

Beth downs the rest of her bourbon and signals to the nearest waiter for another.

Rio says something quickly to his ** _—_** friends? Associates? Then, he strides away, pulling the phone up to his ear.

“You know you can come with me next time.” 

Beth blinks. “Excuse me?”

“To Hierve el Agua. I’m going back to Oaxaca in a few weeks. I know you will find the mole negro to be exquisite.” 

The only place Beth needs to go right now is _away_ , from here, home. 

“You know with the kids it makes it hard to get anywhere further than Chicago,” she chides, her tone flat. “I have four.”

“Mm, yes.” Fitzpatrick nods, taking a sip of his scotch. “Kenneth, Daniel, Emmaline, and Jane. Beautiful names.” 

She stares at him, her stomach bottoming out, white noise crackling in her ears. She tries not to let it show. Her gaze casts desperately out into the room, searching for Rio (old habits), but he’s gone. 

Two waitstaff return with her drink and their food. They momentarily crowd the table, setting everything down ** _—_** a plate of radishes is placed before her. 

She needs air. 

“I’m just ** _—_** ” Beth gestures in the direction of the bathroom. “Going to wash my hands.” 

Her hand juts out to clutch her purse, and she ambles away on unsteady feet. Her head is still swimming.

As she meanders through the bustle, ducking around other people having a great time, she wonders, _Am I going to need to put a hit on my hitman?_

And who’s _that guy_ going to be? 

Beth thinks of her kids ** _—_** probably all piled up on their grandmother’s couches watching a movie. 

Maybe ** _—_** Maybe, just this time, _she’ll_ do it. 

Distracted, she careens into the back hallway and walks head-first into Rio. For a second, she can practically taste the cotton of his button-down shirt, and then that unforgettable smell ** _—_** musk and sandalwood and _him **—**_ hits her so strongly, it’s what she tastes next. Beth swallows, her throat suddenly dry. 

His hands curl around her arms holding her upright for a moment, before they abruptly retreat, curling into fists at his side. He had touched her through the sleeves of her dress, but her skin feels scalded.

Oh _no, no, no._

But, this ** _—_** this she knows. 

Beth summons bravado like an old hat ** _—_** squaring her chin, narrowing her eyes, gnashing her teeth. She angles for disdain. 

Because so fucking what if he caught her?

What other choice did she have? 

He nods back, all jaw and serrated edges. He jerks his head at the door next to him. In a quick, fluid movement, he grabs the doorknob, propping the door to the bathroom open. 

She steps in.

He follows. 

* * *

Beth stalks up to the mirror. It’s a single stall so unfortunately, her stalking theatrics are short-lived. She throws her purse onto the countertop for good measure as the door closes behind them, sealing out the din of the restaurant. Beth fiddles with the latch trying to get it open. It releases and she fishes out her lipstick. She begins to reapply it. 

She glares at Rio through the mirror, unrepentant because she now has bigger criminals to fry. She refuses to let them being alone in a bathroom phase her.

He locks the door behind them.

Beth rolls her eyes.

She can finally hear the music now. Whatever was playing ends, only for the opening baseline of My Girl to start playing from the speakers overhead. She’s sure she’ll appreciate the irony tomorrow. 

“What the fuck are you doing, Elizabeth?” His voice is clipped with barely-contained hostility. 

Hers is aloof. “Nothing.” 

Rio’s lips press into a thin line, and he nods to himself. She ignores him. 

“Where’s your husband?”

She grabs a paper towel and blots her lips. Then, she tosses it in the trash. 

“Selling your hot tubs.” 

Rio’s brows knit together, his lips twisting like he tasted something sour.

“Who’s the guy?”

Her body is flushed from the bourbon, but she dabs her fingertips with a little bit of lipstick and smudges the color at her cheeks. If this is how it finally goes down with Rio, declaring all-out war or final death, at least she looks good. 

She shrugs. “Just a guy. Our daughters are in the same dance class.”

Beth blames the alcohol when she lowers her fingertips from her cheeks, dragging them down the line of her throat, along her collar bone. 

His eyes glint, and he marches forward and getting right in her space, his usual MO. God, why does this always feel like— _so_ _much_. 

“Just some guy, huh?”

Maybe she wavers a smidge in her stance, maybe he fidgets and ends up just that little bit closer. Regardless of how, the buttons of his shirt catch against the back of her dress. She feels his heat, the smell of him in her nose again, in her throat, in her lungs. They look good framed in the mirror.

They both realize they’re staring at each other’s mouths, eyes darting back up at the same time.

Rio eyes her reflection fiercely. “You know he’s a thug?” He bites out. “A fuckin’ bounty hunter?”

Beth lets her eyes widen, her mouth dropping open for full effect. “What?”

He stares at her.

She stares at him back.

The Temptations continue to croon.

Rio brings one of his hands up. His fingers thread through the hair at the nape of her neck. She lets him slowly, softly tug her head back. She leans arched against him, the crown of her head resting at his shoulder. Nothing obscures her face from his. 

“Oh, baby.” He murmurs, his voice like honey. “What you doin’?”

An expanse of her ** _—_** from her face, down the column of her throat, to the depth of her cleavage ** _—_** is exposed for him. Her skin glows milky in the light. She tries for sass. “I don’t want to tell you because you’ll be mad.” 

He blinks at her slowly. A grin flits at the corner of his lips ** _—_** the one she loves and only comes out when he realizes she has gotten something over him. She sees him work to quell it. And he’s got plenty to be serious about right now, but she feels him hard through his jeans and the thin fabric of her dress. She clenches her thighs, looking for some friction, and ends up shifting against him by accident.

“You’re paying that guy to take a shot at me?” He laughs, the smile on his face ends up winning out, taking root. But now, it’s something like a snarl. “It’s alright, darlin’. I know you too much of a pussy to do it yourself.”

Now her mouth really drops.

“Excuse me?!” Her face twists in a sneer. “I already shot you.”

_Oh no._

_Oh no_. _Oh no._

Rio nods, all cool, muscles working in his cheek. Something she can’t read in his eyes gleams. “Yeah. Yeah, you did.” 

“I’m trying to cancel it,” she whispers, solemn. It’s true if she was going to do it tomorrow, right?

“That’s not how that works.” His hand unweaves itself from the hair at base of her neck. He pushes her bangs back from her face tucking the longer sections behind her ear. His other hand curls at her hip, bunching the fabric. His voice is at a purr when he asks, “And what’s all this?”

“He made me go on a date with him,” Beth says, dryly. 

Rio’s shoulders sway with a repressed laugh, jostling her. She watches him as he appreciates the effect it has on her tits. Predictable. She’s obviously still woozy with the bourbon because she wonders if she could get him to touch them. 

“I mean I get it, but why you frontin’ so hard for him?”

She should go ** _—_** back to the table now before Fitzpatrick comes back here to find them, or preferably hail a ride-share and run away, put an end to this dangerous conversation and hash it out with Rio later. But, she tucks her temple against the crook of his jaw instead. “It works with you.”

He lets out a short scoff, but his fingers keep smoothing over her hip. They’re warm, and she’s warm, too. She can see a blush at her neck, dipping lower. Her body feels ripe, heady. 

“You want him to fuck you?” 

She swallows, then shakes her head. 

“Then, what do you want?” He asks, voice husky and low. 

What happens next is truly a slip in her better judgment. This isn’t a good idea for _so many_ reasons, but… 

She licks her lips again. His gaze is riveted to where her chest swells, spilling out of her top. She arches her back a little more for added effect. Then, he turns into her temple. She watches him kiss it in the mirror, feels his breath tickling her bangs, some of them slipping forth from behind her ear.

She aches in too many places, her tits heavy without his hands. She’s been wet at least since he locked the door. 

“So you want me to touch you? After you took a hit out on me?”

Whatever, he wants it, too.

Beth nods.

“After you been such a bad girl?”

She nods again. 

“Nuh-uh, I’m gonna need you on your best behavior,” Rio says, alternating between watching her in front of him and their reflection in the mirror. His eyes are hooded. 

God, she hates him. 

Does she deserve it? Yes. But, it’s not about that ** _—_** right now isn’t an apology. He’s just getting off on being… himself. 

“Say please, Elizabeth.” 

“Fuck me.” She tries to command instead.

The hand not at her hip reaches around, cupping one of her breasts. It’s overwhelming, how satisfying it feels to have him touch her like this again. Then he reaches up, so his thumb can stroke over the skin exposed by her dress tonight. He slips his finger under the lace. Goosebumps rise along her arms.

“‘Fuck me’, what?” His voice is low at her ear.

She moans.

He starts to pull away. Beth drags his hand back, pushing it firmly to her breast. This is a one-time (three-time) bout of temporary insanity and they’ll probably never do this again. So fuck it. She’s going to let herself enjoy it.

“Fuck me please.”

He juts his chin towards the mirror 

“Bend over.”

It’s quick all of it, how she grabs the fabric of her dress, pulling it up, how he unzips his pants, pulls down her red lace panties, too. She leans forward pressing her hands against the cool glass, having learned from before that holding onto the sink is no good. The surface warms under her touch. 

“We’re gonna watch you take my cock in the mirror, yeah? And you’re gonna tell me just how good it feels.”

Beth nods.

“I’m gonna need to hear you say it, Elizabeth.”

She laughs. He needs to stop with all of his corny, ridiculous callbacks. He thinks he’s so fucking smart. He’s going to drive her insane. “Okay, Christopher.”

His hand slips to her cunt.

“So wet, baby.” She really is. She can feel it. He thumbs at her clit, the pressure light finding the angle, and then—god, how is he so good at that? 

“You like it?”

“Yes, I like it,” she all but whines. 

He lingers there for a minute as she tries to stay standing. Then his fingers tease at the entrance of her cunt, rubbing circles, wetting himself with her. It feels delicious in its own right, this moment with her cunt empty and ready. He’s driving her wild just like this. 

Rio slips two of his fingers in, testing her out, seeing what she’s ready to take. She pushes back against him, his thick fingers bottoming out. The ring on his pointer finger is cool and slick at the entrance of her cunt. Perfect. 

“So fuckin’ _wet_.”

Beth has never been one for dirty talk. Her husband has no knack for it, has always made it too gross. And the times before with Rio had been almost completely nonverbal. The notable exceptions being on that sunny afternoon, when he’d murmured _gorgeous_ into her tits and her belly and her thighs and her cunt as he had made her writhe in her marital bed. 

But, she’s not about to let him just talk shit by himself. 

So she makes her voice low, raspy when she says, “That feels _so_ good.”

His eyes meet hers again in the mirror, mouth open as he fingers her — fucking into her nice and slow, bottoming at the base knuckle and pulling out again. His other hand strokes soothingly down her back, but there’s no hope for her. She’s already undone, her dress gathered up on her ass, practically falling out of the front, as she rocks back, meeting him. 

It’s already too good. 

(But, she’s greedy. She wants all of his fingers. Something for next time.)

“Yeah, you like that?”

She nods, breathless. “Let me taste them.”

He slips his fingers out of her cunt and brings them to her lips. God, she loves smelling the tang of her cunt on him. She licks them, tasting herself, moaning ** _—_** for herself and him. He pants as he watches her take them in her mouth. Her tongue swirls carefully cleaning the ring, darting between his pointer and middle fingers.

Behind her, she reaches low and palms his cock. It’s is thick, heavy in her hand ** _—_** half-gone she can admit she missed him. She wraps her hand around him, jerking him off while his fingers fill her mouth. It’s _indecent_. It’s the best. 

He pulls his fingers away. He yanks down the front of her dress down, pulls at the cups of the new plunge bra, almost snapping one of the straps as he exposes her tits — “Be careful,” she hisses. 

Rio himself is buttoned up all the way to his damn collar. But that… that’s a milestone for another day. 

He palms her tits again. His hand is warm on the soft underside of her breasts, still damp from her mouth, kneading. He rolls her nipple between his fingertips, alternating with the other, tugging. Beth is moaning, and people are knocking at the door, telling them to hurry up, new music setting the tempo from the speakers above, but her cunt is still _so_ empty… And he’s too vain, too good to make it a real quickie. She already itches to come for him, but she knows she should hold out for what’s next.

“You need something, mama?”

She scoffs, grinding the soft flesh of her ass against his smooth cock. He reaches down to take his cock in hand and she spreads her legs, widening her stance. Rio brings the head to tease against the hood of her clit. She hates how bad he makes her want him. _She hates it._

“What you need, Elizabeth?”

Beth peers up at his reflection through her eyelashes and gives him what he ** _—_** they want, “Please, let me take your cock.”

He lets her take it. 

The head of his cock pressing into her cunt makes her gasp. He fills her. Her toes curl, scrunching inside her shoes.

She reaches back out to the mirror, barely holding on as he fucks her. All the while, he’s in her ear, gruff and hoarse, telling her how good she looks, how she’s a fucking mess with her panties pulled down and her dress half off, getting fucked out, how if she’s going to end him, she’s going to have to do it herself, and then who else will put up with her shit like him. 

She likes it.

She likes the way they look together in the mirror. 

She likes the dirty talk.

The way he sounds. The way she sounds. She didn’t think she’d enjoy playing with her pitch—making it breathier, lower—performing for him. 

She likes it so much, she might love it. 

So when his cock is bottoming out inside of her and the only thing that matters is their bodies and their words and the squelching, wet sound of them fucking. She doesn’t let herself think twice. She lets the words fly from her mouth. 

“Doesn’t my pussy take your cock so well?” 

He stutters inside of her. In the mirror, she watches as he blisses out for a second.

“Yeah, darlin’. You take it so good.”

“Not too much of a pussy for you now, Christopher?”

He laughs a little wrecked right at her ear, hitting that spot in her deep. “Fuck you.” He brings a hand to her shoulder, pushing her forward. Her hands skitter across the glass, her tits bouncing. His mouth ticks, following the movement, the way she looks, her wrists flexed at the glass. 

The angle changes, too. 

“Don’t forget your clit, ma.”

It’s all so good. 

And she takes it. Her body feels hot everywhere, alight by his touch. Her dress flutters around them, as they fuck. 

But, she wants more of him. 

Her hand reaches back, her fingers sliding down along his scalp, pressing her nails at the nape of his neck 

He raises a hand to her sternum and she nudges it up, bringing it to the base of her throat. He doesn’t squeeze and she doesn’t want him to tonight. But she wants the feeling, of vulnerability, of safety, the sensation of weight. He makes his hand heavy and she moans. And then she presses her lips to his. He groans into it. 

She loves kissing him.

Her thoughts peter out as she gets close. It’s just his hands on her, at her throat, gripping at her tits. It’s their lips together, soft, lush, and him crooning in her mouth, “Just like that, Elizabeth.”

It’s just him, him, him, him as her body hits that perfect note. God, she hates to even think it but she didn’t even know it existed before. 

“Look at me when you come.” 

Her vision tunnels on his face. His jaw is open, panting against her lips, eyes on her her her. She wishes she could bottle this ** _—_** what she does to him. 

The world around her quietens as she comes hard on his cock. 

Trembling, she has enough presence of mind to egg him on. Her lips pressed to his, she dares him to come inside of her. 

He does. 

* * *

Afterward, they collapse against the sink, his nose in her hair, her body floating in a warm sea. The bathroom is rife with the smell of them.

Rio pulls her hair from his mouth, brushing it with his fingers into a semblance of her normal curls. She takes a breath to will her thighs to stop shaking. 

She hates when it’s over. 

“You okay?”

She hums a yes. He kisses her temple. 

“You still want to kill me?”

Tears prick at her eyes, and she has to get her mouth under control before she whispers, “No comment.”

Rio thumbs at her chin dimple fondly, his face an inch from hers. She wants to kiss him again, but she shuffles away. She fixes her dress, tucking her boobs back inside her bra. She pulls up the neckline, using the mirror to help her adjust it back into place.

Beth doesn’t want to go back outside. 

“He know where you live?”

Beth lets out a sigh, real-life catching up in spades. She shuts her eyes in an effort to stave off a headache. 

“Oh, darlin’.” Her eyes blink open and she catches him watching her through the mirror again. He’s pulled up his pants, all composed as if _this_ didn’t just happen. “You know I’m not gonna kill him for you, right?”

“You’re not allowed to,” Beth says, plainly. “I’m going to do it.”

Something weighted tugs at the corner of his lips.

There's a beat where they just stare at their reflection in the mirror, their expressions sated and weary.

“You know when you shoot this motherfucker you need to make sure he stays dead—”

“Don’t ** _—_** don’t lecture me right now,” Beth says holding up a hand. “This is not a teachable moment.”

“I’ll go with you just to make sure.”

She rolls her eyes to the ceiling then turns to level him with an unimpressed glare. 

“I’m just sayin’ if you’re really sorry about it, you’ll let me watch.”

She shakes her head. “Like that went so well for you last time.”

Rio turns, considering her. Beth looks back at him ** _—_** wondering what he's thinking. Her eyes trace the collar of his shirt still neat, unwrinkled, their past lying hidden underneath.

For another time. 

"Let me take you home."

* * *


End file.
